


Days 20 and 21- Field Medicine and Infection

by Fight_Surrender



Series: Whumptober 2020 [14]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Canon Era, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Chimeras, During Canon, I don't know how graphic is graphic, I'm totally not squeamish so hopefully I'm being sensitive, M/M, Not Beta Read, The chimera scene, Watford Fifth Year, Whumptober 2020, so I put the graphic violence tag on there just to be safe, the drunken catacombs scene, tw blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Fight_Surrender
Summary: In 5th year at Watford, Baz summons a chimera. Simon helps him fight it, but Baz gets hurt.Simon fixes things, but ends up covered in Baz's blood.Will he get Turned? Will there be feelings?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Whumptober 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950466
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Days 20 and 21- Field Medicine and Infection

**Author's Note:**

> So the full prompts are: Day 20. Toto, I Have a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore (Field Medicine) and Day 21. I Don't Feel So Well (Infection) 
> 
> I spent way too much time today researching Watford timelines and what voices sound like. It's a good thing I'm unemployed at the moment. I'm not sure if this fic is any good, but at least I hit the prompts. 
> 
> Much love to those of you who are reading along. You guys are amazing.

I wake up in a circle of ash. Baz is out cold next to me. The chimera is gone. I drag myself to a sitting position, everything aches. I always feel hung over after I go off.

Baz comes to and shoots to his feet like he’s been stung. “I swear to Merlin and everything that’s holy,” he growls. “If you singed off my eyebrows with your nuclear explosion I’m going to—”

“Baz!” I shout, “You’re bleeding!” Like a lot. There’s a puddle of blood where he was just laying, and it’s shooting from his arm in slow, rhythmic spurts, all over me. “Crowley,” Baz drawls, looking at his arm. Then he passes out.

OK, I think. I’m trained for this. _Think Simon_. For once, I’m grateful for the Mage’s ridiculous drills. He wanted me ready for every situation imaginable, from run of the mill espionage to nuclear holocaust. I collect my backpack from where I dropped it when I stumbled into this shit situation. _That Baz got me into. I should let him bleed to death._

I pull out my med kit and open it. Step one, hemostasis. Stop the bleeding. I pull off my tie and place it around his bicep. He’s all muscle, this one. Not an ounce of fat. I tighten my makeshift tourniquet and the bleeding slows. The cut is deep, right in the crook of his elbow. Arterial bleed. I’m going to have to tie off the vessel. Some outer layer of my brain wonders if it’s normal for a fifteen-year-old to know this?

Baz wakes again while I’m trying to clamp the bleeder with my hemostats. “What the fuck are you doing Snow?” He growls. By the grace of Circe, he doesn’t move.

 _Got it_ , I think as the box locks click home. I grab some suture from my kit. “Shut up, Baz. I’m saving your worthless life.”

“Why didn’t you use a spell?” He asks.

I ignore him while I ligate the vessel.

I look up at him, “Do you really want me to spell you?” I look at him meaningfully, “ _Me_?”

“No, I suppose not.” He feels around for his wand. I’m starting to suture the wound now. He points the wand at his arm. “ ** _Get well soon_** ,” he murmurs. Nothing happens. His magic’s gone dry in the fray.

“Guess you’re at my mercy then,” I reply as I sew. “Thanks for trying to get me killed.” He’s looking at me with wide, wild eyes.

He goes very still. “Snow?” His voice is quiet, “You’re covered in blood.”

“Yeah, no shit Baz. Very observant.” I snip tail of the last knot. Nice job, if I say so myself.

He levels his eyes at me, “You’re covered in _my_ blood, Snow.”

His blood. His _vampire_ blood.

“Did you just admit that you’re a vampire?”

“No. Maybe I have an STD.”

“ _Do you_ have an STD then?”

“No.”

“Then you’re a vampire.”

“I’m not a fucking vampire you moron.” He lurches to his feet, swaying slightly.

“You should let me bandage that.”

“Fuck off, Snow.” He stomps away, clutching his arm.

“Maybe you should probably drain some extra rats tonight.” I call, “To make up for the blood loss.”

“Fuck. Off.” He shouts as he retreats through the forest, palming his way from tree to tree.

**Baz**

Eight snakes and a nine toed sloth. I’m pacing the catacombs, having had my fill of rats. He was covered in it. My blood. It looked like normal blood.

But it isn’t, is it?

Normal.

Nothing about this is normal. I can’t bear it. I can’t think about what could happen—if.

There is a rat peeking out at me from behind a sconce. It’s the piebald one with the dark patch over its head and the white body. I think it’s someone’s pet, escaped. It looks at me hopefully, with inquisitive eyes.

“How long will it take?” I wonder out loud.

“I’m pretty sure the toxin needs hormones to take effect,” I mutter as I pace. That's how frazzled I am, I'm speaking to a rat. Estrogen, testosterone. My bloodlust didn’t hit until after puberty. Despite his lackluster attempts at facial hair, Simon has definitely experienced the benefits of testosterone. When he left for summer break, his voice was high and squeaky. He returned two inches taller, and with a rich, gravelly tenor. 

I stop and glare at the rat. I can’t ever bring myself to kill this one. It’s too trusting. “What?” I ask it. The rat just peers at me with its beady eyes, wringing its little hands.

I huff and resume my pacing. How does the toxin work? Does the victim have to be bitten, or does any portal of entry work? A scratch? A hangnail? Is it even _in_ my blood? Maybe it’s just my saliva that’s poisonous.

I end up at _Le Tombeau des Enfants_. I always end up here.

I slide to the floor and pull my flask from behind a dusty skull. _I don’t want to think about this anymore._

I’m well sozzled by the time Snow comes wandering in, full of self-righteous indignity. I let him have his say. God forbid I interrupt a proper Simon Snow bluster. I am so tired of this though, the suspicion. The surveillance. He’s in my face now, sword in hand. I could kiss him. I could kill him. What will it be today?

“What if I _am_ a vampire, Snow?" I take a pull from my flask. I should stand up for this, but given how the room is spinning, it’s probably best that I sit. “What then? What if I’ve accidentally Turned you?”

Snow lowers his sword and stares. His mouth hangs open, of course. _Mouth breather._

“A few hours ago, you were covered in my blood.” I pause for effect. And to swallow a wave of nausea. “Have you considered the consequences?”

The hollow look on his face indicates he has. “Fuck off, Baz,” which is his default response when he has run out of things to say. Then he backs out of the catacombs.

**Simon**

Baz keeps watching me.

I mean, this isn’t unusual. He’s always on his guard. But usually he’s staring daggers at me. Lately he’s just been—staring. During class. After class. In the library. The dining hall. Every time I turn around, Baz is there.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he looked worried.

I definitely know better.

“You should cover that,” I say, looking at the stitches on Baz’s arm. “So it doesn’t get infected.” He’s in his football kit, about to head to practice.

“Maybe I don’t _get_ infections,” He says, raising a brow. “How are you feeling? Any blood lust yet?”

“It’s been forty-eight hours and I haven’t turned into a pale arsehole yet, so I think I’m ok.”

There’s a pause. The room is quiet, I wait for Baz to head out. “Thanks,” Baz says quietly.

I pull away from my desk and turn around to face him. “For what?” (I know what for, but I want him to say it.) Baz slowly rolls his football back and forth with his foot.

“For fixing my arm.” His hair falls in a gentle wave across his forehead as he speaks.

“You’re welcome,” I say.

“I’m sorry about the chimera. I only meant to scare you.”

I feel myself blush. I’ve no idea why. “Yeah, OK,” I say.

Baz nods, kicks the ball into his hand. “Yeah,” then he turns and leaves. The door clicks behind him.

I turn back to my desk and decide to stop thinking.


End file.
